"Stop. Come here."
The command froze Song Yihuan mid-step. She tightened her brow, closed her eyes and let out a long, inward sigh. Of all places—of all times—why did she have to run into him here?
If she'd known, she would have gone straight back to Tinglan Courtyard and avoided the garden altogether.
She turned slowly, head bent so she wouldn't meet his eyes. For a moment she considered pretending to be one of Prince Ning's maids and slipping away, but the man's voice cut through her hesitation.
"What are you standing there for? Do I have to call you? Song Yihuan."
At the sound of her name, pronounced without error, she knew there was no escaping. Resigned, she stepped into the pavilion.
The moment she moved beneath its shelter, she felt his gaze on her like a net cast wide—tight enough to hold her. She clenched her hand and risked a glance up. Ji Lingchuan's eyes shone bright in the dark; there was something in them that made her pulse stutter.
She dipped into a half-bow and asked, trying to emphasize the distance between them, "Brother-in-law—what brings you here?"
The title landed deliberately heavy; she wanted to remind him of the relationship that should keep them apart. For a heartbeat the pavilion was silent before he answered, "To admire the moon."
Tonight the moon offered only a slim crescent—no sweeping silver disc—but the stars ran across the sky like a river, and the scene had its own quiet beauty. Given Ji Lingchuan's temperament, she believed him. He would be too proud to lie.
She bit her lower lip, thinking over the day's events, then forced the words out. "Young Lord, thank you...for earlier."
She meant it. He had refused to believe the lies woven by her elder sister and Bai Zhi; he had defended her honor. And by pushing for a full inquiry, he had managed to distance Bai Zhi from her sister's side. She even suspected his punishment of the two young masters at the Jiang Duke's residence had been connected to her case—though she didn't know the details, she took comfort in the thought.
Ji Lingchuan, seated on the stone bench, said nothing. His fingers tapped the table with a measured rhythm.
Song Yihuan wondered why he'd summoned her to this pavilion. Despite the distance she'd kept, several reminders of intimacy had lingered between them—incidents that left her knees weak even from afar. As she debated making her exit, he spoke.
"How do you intend to thank me?"
"For the market and for tonight—Song Yihuan, you owe me more than a single life," he said, his voice low and flat. "If you're going to thank me, decide how you'll repay."
She froze, biting her lip. How could she possibly repay him? She couldn't offer herself—he disliked her, and such a declaration would only see her chucked out of Prince Ning's household. Her thoughts raced. They were of different standings; she couldn't openly move in his presence in front of the prince's wife and Song Nanxin without risking scandal. The only thing she could do within bounds was take advantage of her disguise as a maid and tend to his wound.
She brightened. "You were kicked by a horse the day you saved me at the market—I remember. You wouldn't let me tell my sister, and I suppose no one at the mansion knows. Let me change your dressing. If I bandage you properly, Lord, your wound will heal faster."
Ji Lingchuan regarded her and asked, "Is that all?"
There was an edge to his tone she couldn't read. Did he think her gesture too small? But what more could she do openly? She swallowed and offered the only other thing she had.
"I've made a jar of green plums," she said. "They're tart and sweet, good for cooling and can whet the appetite. If you like, I'll give the jar to you as a token of thanks."
Others might offer a handkerchief, a sachet, or a jade ornament—Song Yihuan had chosen pickled plums. It was odd, perhaps, but creative.
Ji Lingchuan's face tightened. "First, the dressing."
Relief flooded her; he had agreed. She promised to fetch the bandages and the medicine and hurried off in a flurry.
She felt his gaze follow her steps all the way down the path. What she didn't know was that in the pavilion Ji Lingchuan's lips had curved almost imperceptibly. The frosty lines around his eyes softened; he felt a strange, unacknowledged pleasure—one he hadn't noticed in himself.
The day's events had overturned much of what he had assumed about Song Yihuan. He had learned she was innocent of the frame set by Bai Zhi, and the news that the servant who had planted the false evidence had died during corporal punishment left a shadow across his brow. Seeking calm, he had taken to the study that evening to read military texts, but the books only deepened his restlessness. He wrapped his coat on and left the room, wandering until he found himself sitting in the pavilion to clear his head.
He had no clear plan; he simply waited. Before long he heard footsteps and saw the familiar figure approach.
Even garbed as a maid—hair bound in a servant's knot, a shawl of soot darkened over a once-bright face—she was unmistakable. In that instant Ji Lingchuan couldn't name the feeling that knotted in his chest; all he knew was that whatever irritation she had stirred in him dissolved the moment she came into view, leaving behind an odd, helpless fondness.
Did she always try so hard to climb to him? Tonight she had donned the maid's dress and darkened her face just to come close.
Song Yihuan did not know what played behind his eyes. She hurried back to Tinglan Courtyard, slipping past Fu Ling and Chun Xing, and rummaged for the salve he'd left for her earlier. She scooped up the jar of plums from the corner and lifted a small lantern, moving back toward the garden with furtive steps. The nearer she drew to the pavilion, the faster her heart beat; the moonlight set the hem of her skirt trembling like caught fireflies.
Seeing him still seated, she inhaled, lowered her head, and walked into his line of sight. The maid's garments hugged her slender waist; the lantern's glow warmed the planes of her face, and she looked unexpectedly gentle.
"Young Lord, I've brought the bandages and medicine. I'll change your dressing now."
Ji Lingchuan swallowed. He gave a single, curt nod—then, in front of her, he untied his sash and began to strip off his outer garments.